


Anything Wacky

by NothingToDoWithMe



Series: Anything [2]
Category: The Goodies (TV), The Goodies RPF
Genre: F/M, Nazis, Non-Consensual Groping, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 16:52:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19277464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NothingToDoWithMe/pseuds/NothingToDoWithMe
Summary: Imagined on-location shenanigans whilst filming 'Wacky Wales'. Bill has fun whilst getting made up to shock-rock.





	Anything Wacky

‘Wales’, Friday 19th April, 1974. Probably Swanage, really.  
The Goodies emerge from their mobile dressing rooms in their ‘Welcome in the Hillside’ rock outfits.

  
G: Well, your costume can’t have taken you very long to put on, Bill!

B: I dunno, Grae, these high boots are bastards to get into. [Turns to Tim] Wouldn’t you agree, Timbo? Or is it just that you can’t help mincing in yours as usual? But then, you always did appreciate a bit of tight leather.

T: [Winces.] They are a bit snug. Although not as much as your – what the hell are those articles you’re nearly wearing, Bill? Trousers or tights?!

B: [Devilishly:] Maybe it’s NOTHING, and I’ve just painted it aaall black! [Flips hips forward provocatively.] Howdee do dere, honey! Yassir, I’se still a little honky above de waist, sadly.

G: [Holding his nose;] Oh, you’re a little honky all the time, Bill. No, strike that; this year we’ve been joined by The Incredible Shrinking Stinky.

B: [Focussing on the praise for his weight loss and ignoring the fart joke.] Aalriiight! Keep yo eyes on de priize, brudda, cos dat ain’t a-gonna do no shrinkin! No, no, but seriously though, these are Lycra Hipsters, so I’m reliably told.

T: Ah, yes, of course, hipsters! D’you know, I thought they were just falling down because you’re so tiny, but I didn’t like to say.

B: Nope, they’re tight as you like. And I do. [Plucking at his daringly low waistband.] Well, I might have given them a teensy nudge southwards – I’ll always go about as far as I can go, you know that!

They reach the makeup van and go in.

All3: Hello, girls!

Tim and Graeme are shown their matching Wotwigs, Jimmy Page model.

B: [Preening:] I won’t be needing one of those, obviously. My hair is already totally rock’n’roll.

T: Yes, yes, we know. And your facefuzz is looking lovely and butch today, petal!

Bill slaps Tim, laughing fiercely.

B: Get that shirt open, sissy!

He rips Tim’s black shirt violently open to the waist, shedding buttons.

T: Argh! You cat! I’ll make you sew those back on later.

B: Well, I can’t sew, so tough titty, mate. C’mon, man, show us yer belly button!

The makeup girls snort and titter.

G: Children, children, please! [Mutters:] Shame this wig’s going to hide my bluegrass whiskers. [More loudly:] I’ll look too much like you, Timbo. Still, I’ll have my glasses – actually, they’ll be shades – so that my public can tell which is me.

T: They’ll know as soon as you start trying to dance, Grae! Right, I’ll shut up now so you can make me up, my lovely.

Girls do a hasty slap job on the axemen, remarking that the lighting is so bad and the ‘hair’ so flowing that it would be pointless to do anything too careful.

B: [To the third girl:] OK, darling, have you got the design sheet for me?

T: [Mock-helpful:] It’s the one marked ‘Action Man’.

B: Piss off. And yours is marked ‘Poof’ and at the bottom, ‘Job Done’.

T: Very funny.

Tim and Graeme are having their wigs put on. The third girl, Frances, hands Bill a clipboard.

B: Ah, yes, love, that’s the one. You can do this for me, right? Got the black? I know you have red lipstick; you’ll have used plenty on Tim already!

T: Says you, who’s planning to look like some kind of loony rag doll.

F: Oh, yes, Mr Oddie, it should be quite eas… Oh. Do I really have to do these symbols here?

B: Yeah, it’s meant to be shocking, you dig? The story is, heavy metal thunder versus the taffy repressionists’ fire and brimstone! Big laugh, eh?

F: Sorry, it’s just… [aside] Helen, I really can’t. You know why.

H: [Gasp!] (I am an idiot.) It’s OK, I’ll do it, Fran. Why don’t you go and get some tea?

F: [Hoarsely;] Alright. Bye, lads, break a leg!

All3: Thanks!

She leaves. A brief puzzled silence.

H: Well, that was awkward. What with her surname being Aaronson.

T: Oh, Christ! Er, I mean – Gosh, we’re SO sorry!

G: Oohh…

B: …shit.

H: It’s fine, you weren’t to know. It’s all my fault; I meant to warn her beforehand but just forgot.

T: I’ll go and check she’s alright; we’re done here anyway, apart from Bill’s doodles. [Makes to go. Turns back again.] You do know it’s all a piss-take, right?

H: Of course! You lot are the last people I’d have down as nazis, for heaven’s sake. Although I did wonder about Graeme in his U-boat, ha-ha!

Exit Tim.

G: [Laughing softly.] Yes, ending up in America; who’d have thought? Actually, I think I’ll be going, too; I want a word with Jim about the smokebombs. See you in a bit, Dinky Stinky.

B: Not if I see you first, Banjo Botherer!

Exit Graeme.

B: ‘And then there were two.’

H: Eh? [Looking round in a slight panic.] Where’s Jane gone?

Jane emerges from a cupboard.

J: Here I am, Hel – I thought we’d probably need more red and black.

Bill leans back contentedly in chair, arms behind his head (displaying his hairy armpits) and winks.

B: Ooh, are both of you going to work on me? A man could get big-headed, you know!

H: [Taking no notice.] Yes, thanks, Janey, just put them on the table here.

J: Do you need anything else? Only, I’ve been on my feet all morning.

She puts a hand in the small of her back and Bill notices something of an outward curve to her which rings a familiar bell.

H: Hm, you’d better go and have some lunch; you didn’t manage breakfast, did you? Well, not for long. [The two girls exchange furtive looks.] I’ll be fine on my own – he’s only little!

J: [Glancing at the wily, wiry devil in the chair.] Well, if you’re sure.

H: Mind you eat something sustaining.

Jane exits van. Helen says nothing to Bill about the matter. None of his business. At least, he doesn’t recall that it was. Interesting that there was no ring on her finger; he’d have noticed. He automatically checks every girl he meets. The boss lady takes a quick look at the design and picks up a black eye pencil.

H: We’ll start with your face, Mr Oddie. Lean forward a bit so you’re in the light, please. That’s it, right eye shut first.

B: I hate this bit.

H: Sensitive eyes?

B: No, I just can’t see so much of your beautiful face now!

H: [Groan.] I’ve never heard that before. I don’t think!

B: And don’t worry, you can call me Bill. No point standing on ceremony when you’re half-naked, eh?

H: Speak for yourself, cheeky!

B: [Wheezy laugh.] I assume you aren’t half-naked under there? Or are you?

She huffs through her nose, keeping her lips tightly shut. His hand automatically tries its luck on her lower thigh – just about underneath her skirt.

B: Not telling, eh? You tease! Oh, or p’raps you can’t remember whether you put any on this morning?

As if of their own accord, the fingers try to walk their way up a bit further.

B: When I get there I’ll let you know…

Helen drops the design sheet, grabs the offending hand and slaps it pretty hard.

B: Ow!

H: Now then, none of that nonsense or I won’t be able to keep a steady hand.

B: Mmm, I do enjoy a good, steady hand.

He doesn’t need to elaborate on where he likes it – it’s written all over his wicked face. She bends to pick up the clipboard guardedly, knees bent to the side in best Rank Charm School fashion, not permitting him even the merest hint of a flash.

B: Gah! Spoilsport!

H: Filthy devil! I hope they whip you hard for real when you get tied up. Yes, I’ve read your perverted script.

B: Oh [ecstatic wince], I hope they do, too! You’re welcome to put on a druid’s outfit and false beard and do it yourself, honey, since you’re so keen to make sure!

H: The name’s Helen. Now let’s get on with this properly so you can join the others. Light’s terrible today. We might as well have actually gone to bloody Wales – pissing down all the time…

She becomes absorbed in decorating his eye and the rest of his face according to the sketch. The extreme proximity and touch of a woman is doing its usual mischief to William, especially now that they are alone together. His breathing, pulse and circulation are all affected and he knows what will be next. Yep, there is the lonely dog, stirring restlessly. Not now! Breathing in Helen’s musky perfume, Bill notices that the tip of her tongue is charmingly a little way out of her mouth – making her look younger than perhaps she is.

B: [Distantly:] Wouldn’t it be nice to kiss you.

H: Pardon?

B: Sorry, did I say that out loud? [Coy, apologetic smile. Genuinely looks like he hadn’t meant to. Or is he a better actor than she’d thought?]

Now Helen has momentarily lost concentration on the makeup. It was that devastating smile. I bet he would be a good kisser, too – he’s so full of life. Trouble is, he wouldn’t be able to stop there. Actually, neither would I; it’s been far too long. Her heart pounds at the near heat of him. I can smell you. I can almost taste you. I like it. Feel me up again and you might get further. Stop it, Helen! You have a job to do.

H: Yes, you did say it aloud. Please don’t; I’m working. Maybe at the wrap, if you’re good for the rest of the shoot.

B: I’ll hold you to that. [Pretends to make a note on his hand with the wrong end of an eye pencil.] ‘N.B: Miss Helen owes Mr Bill one kiss.’ Just one?

H: One! [Smiling.] No adding sneaky zeroes.

B: Understood. Watch out, though; it may be just one, but I’ll certainly make it count, eh; corrr! [He mimes entwinement with her, hugging his as yet undecorated chest and twisting his legs about vigorously.]

H: [Laughs loudly.]

B: [Thinks.] Another one I can probably laugh into bed.

H: Come on, left arm now. [Charming little biceps.]

B: [Checking.] Yep, you’re drawing it the right way round; ten out of ten!

H: I bet you would have got it wrong if you’d done yourself, seeing as you’d have to use a mirror. Now the chest. Be upstanding!

B: Oh, I am, I am! [Chuckles.]

H: Bad boy! On your feet, I meant.

B: Yes, Miss. [Jumps up smartly.] You know, I love it when you’re strict!

H: [Ignoring him as best she can.] Let’s get this done.

Using the edge of the clipboard as a ruler, she draws the sign of the cross onto his upper chest, making a few false starts because her subject won’t stop twitching.

B: [Spluttering:] That tickles – it’s cold!

H: Do try and keep still.

She moves down to do the other swastika. As her hand brushes Bill’s nipple, she clocks how erect it is. Bill shivers with ill-suppressed erotic pleasure.

H: [Playfully tapping them with her pencil:] I’m surprised you didn’t ask me to draw red stars on these two beauties!

B: Ooer! That would really up the Whitehouse factor! Can I change the scheme, please, at this stage? You’re giving me all kinds of lewd ideas, now, you know!

H: Hm. No, better not – we’ve so little time.

B: Damn. Well, OK. Maybe it’d look a bit pansy, anyway. [Serious.] Hey, I hope no-one else actually thinks we’re fascists.

H: Oh, don’t be so wet. You know the whole country loves your fooling about. Anyway, I could always remind everyone they’re ancient good luck symbols.

B: Now who’s being wet?

H: [If only you knew.] Just get out there and keep moving. You’ll knock’em dead!

She draws the red lightning flash – low down on his right, where normally it would be just below his waistband but now…what an abnormally low waistband; she can see in sharp definition some bits of Bill she’s never noticed him having before; and she’s starting to wonder how much musculature is on show at the rear, too – and whether or not the tight trousers might slip right off when he cavorts as he probably intends to on stage. What a thought. One for the Christmas Tape! Putting down the clipboard, she colours the jagged shape in, using bright red.

H: Always loved colouring-in, as a kid.

B: Yes? I like join-the-dots, myself.

They both ponder this concept for a bit, suspecting and readily finding innuendo. Her face is now level with his groin. The lipstick tugs softly at his taut skin while her warm forearm heats him further, although it really has no need to. She puts her left hand on the back of his thigh to steady herself. It’s heavenly.

H: Keep still, Bill; stop wriggling!

B: Sorry, just thinking about the routine. I’m gonna wiggle my bum, do high kicks and jump six feet in the air, you know!

H: What, all at once? This I must see!

B: Hee, hee! Well, not quite simultaneously, but it’ll be bloody fast once you allow for the undercranking. And I’m so much springier these days, zzzip! [Whipping his arm up to illustrate take-off, in a gesture that could also mean something more earthbound.]

Lastly, Helen copies the red zigzag onto the lower left of Bill’s living canvas, arcing it around his doglike belly hair.

H: It’s true that there does seem to be nothing left of the tummy. If only you were a couple of feet taller, then you might even pass as a sex symbol.

B: Huh. Methinks the lady doth protest too much.

Frowning at the design, Helen starts uncertainly colouring some of the points in with black.

B: Admit it, girl, you want me!

She puts away the eyebrow pencil and stands up. Bill’s skin there is too furry to need colour anyway.

H: [Sarcastically:] Oh dear. Yes I really do, Bill. I want you so hard I’m about to go weewee on the floor but – such a tragedy! I’m obviously unable to oblige you right now.

B: Et pourquoi pas?

H: Parce que: it would smudge the makeup, dummy! I think I’ll probably get over the disappointment, though, given a few decades.

B: Aw, shit.

H: That’ll do; you can bugger off to set now.

B: Hey, let’s have a look, first. You got a big mirror?

H: You’re not that big; this one’ll do. [Holds up medium-sized one.]

B: Meanie! [Looks carefully at his face and chest, shutting first one eye then the other, genuinely pleased.] Wow, that’s great!

Bill puts his Welsh gold pendant and bangles on and turns this way and that to admire the angles. Helen is also looking very closely, but a bit lower down.

H: Ahem. Bill, are you going on with that?

B: What, this? Don’t you dig the jewellery!?! It’s so trendy and it’ll catch the light a treat!

H: No: that! [Gesturing vaguely below his waist.] Um… they’ll surely notice that you’re rather… Tell me, what are you wearing underneath?

B: Nothing, my innocent. It would ruin the line.

H: I see. So…that’s all you, then, is it, ‘ruining the line’? I offer you my heartiest congratulations in that case! But I’m not sure the director would agree it’s a good idea to capture your glory on film.

B: I’ll just tell’im it was the red-hot rock’n’roll what did it to me, your honour – that, and the red-hot chick who painted me up so sexy!

He takes a step closer to her. The frustration is tangible.

H: Keep talking, I like your style.

He puts a finger on her face, lightly running it down her cheek, under her chin, down her chest. The tip of his tongue’s come out, almost as if he wants to taste her.

B: Just out of curiosity, Miss, have you got any solutions to the alleged problem – I mean, ones which I’d…like?

It’s been silly banter up until now. If she wants to, however, Helen can and always does simply ask for what she needs. A girl guide in her youth, she’s always completely prepared for whatever bonuses life throws at her. Crossing behind Bill, she locks the door and pulls the curtains shut.

H: You know, Bill, I’m dead set against repression of all kinds, too.

Returning to the transfixed guy, Helen places an appreciative hand on the area in question and gives him a teasing, tickling stroke.

B: [Incredibly ready.] Hel, yeah!

Bill expects to see her kneel next, but she wrongfoots him by clearing a space on the bench, placing a pillow near the edge and covering it with a clean towel.

H: Your luck’s in, Billy-boyo. I feel frisky.

B: But – I thought – What about the boddie art?!

Helen leans in and gives his mouth a single, hands-off, precise, delicate kiss. Bill feels electric sparks chasing over his skin.

H: Paid early: one kiss, and I didn’t smudge your cheeks. There’s always a way, you see – if you’re careful?

Surely this isn’t a tease, hopes Bill. But won’t normal shagging mean they risk rubbing tummies? Then Helen casually turns and bends, not backwards, but forwards over the towel. Aha! He steps forward to the crease.

H: [Over her shoulder, raising her skirt for him.] Go ahead, big boy!

B: Oh, wow! Doggy style? Thanks! What’s the catch?

H: Just make sure you don’t smudge my work because I want a photo for my portfolio.

B: [Quickly rolling down the hot-black tight pants and with some difficulty setting free the hound, now achingly rigid with lust at the prospect.] Don’t worry, babe, I’m so toned I can have you without even breaking a sweat.

He eases down her knickers with enormous relish, tongue right out. What a gorgeous, tipped-up arse, and she’s literally begging for him. He briefly dips his finger inside her – yes, lovely and hot. She waxes wetter as he gives her clit a perfunctory tickle, parting her legs a bit more with an urgent moan.

B: I’d love a photo of you, too, my sweet darling! From this exact angle. I’d never manage to get it developed anywhere, though – I’d be arrested; the papers’d love that!  
Mmmm….. [as he sinks into her welcoming dale and grasps her hips, as a drowning man a lifebelt, for a good, brisk, badly-needed standing fuck]. Hope this table’s sturdy!

With his body as tightly coiled as the cowboy whip, it’s easy to dance the familiar, sinuous dance of love. The sidelined black and red makeup tools start to vibrate, lurch, roll, and cascade from the bench onto the floor. Looking sideways at the sound, Bill spots a flash of movement. Who’s that rock god getting his oats? It’s only him, in the mirror, now propped up against the wall and by a lucky chance reflecting his kneetrembler back at him in a perfect feedback loop. Great! He can check the art isn’t smudging. As promised, the daredevil doesn’t break a sweat as he works, leaning away slightly from his mustang to preserve the red lightning – just a lovely, ecstatic glow.

B: [Growling like a megastar in gasps as he thrusts.] I’m still having… that extra kiss… at the wrap, though… missy… because… I believe you must agree… I’m being ‘very good’ indeed!.. Aren’t I?.. And the kiss… just now… was titillating… but fell way short… of my usual requirements… for duration… and passionate intensity!

Three minutes later, a woozy and grinning Bill emerges onto the steps. Just in time, it seems.

G: There you are. Come on, they’re waiting for us at the stage. What took you so long?

B: [Stepping down uncertainly.] Er, er, the makeup girl wanted to take some photos of me. (This is true. He’d almost forgotten.)

A healthy-looking Helen appears at the van door with a camera. She winks at Bill.

H: [Pointedly:] One more, please, Bill, in the open? Good thing the rain’s stopped.

B: Eh, what? Already? [Sounding confused, until his eye lights on the camera.] Oh! Righto.

He poses with hands on hips, sideways to his acolyte to show the arm, turning a sultry, painted, hairy head towards her, and full frontal to show the chest. Helen takes a few snaps whilst Tim appears and looks impatient.

T: What the – oh, I see. [Glaring privately at Bill.]  
One with all of us, maybe, Helen? Then we MUST go.  
Fran’s OK, by the way. It was just the initial shock.

B: Oh, I am glad.

H: Thanks so much for sorting out my mess, Mr Brooke-Taylor.

T: A pleasure. Fran’s a great kid, learns fast.

Helen takes what she hopes will be a cool photo of them all, leaning in together. Tim and Graeme have their prop electric guitars and it only lacks Bill’s microphone to look like a real group. Which makes her a groupie. Fab – another ambition fulfilled.

H: Thanks, fellas. See you later!

She goes happily back in and shuts the door. The Goodies hurriedly make for the stage, not noticing Fran returning to the makeup van, going in, and Helen dashing back out to come and watch the filming.

G: I’d have taken a few shots of her, Bill! Did you?

B: Noooo. I got something far better than a photo. And, anyway, I have a really good visual memory, I’m happy to say.

He narrows his eyes, grins, makes a curvy outline in the air with his hands, then uses his thumbs rather as one does in ‘Here’s the Church’, although with much, much cruder intent, and quietly wolf-whistles. Bill and Grae cackle conspiratorially and the discussion turns to private darkrooms. Tim tries to look shocked for a bit, then joins in until they reach the set.

They climb the steps, find their marks and Bill picks up his microphone. Even though the song’s going to be dubbed on afterwards, he can’t resist a ‘soundcheck’.

B: Helloooo, Llan Dlubber! Testing, testing, one, two, three! I tell you what, mates, I am really going to enjoy that cigar.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, I'm new here. Been writing straight Bill fanfic for a few months because I couldn't find any. I try to make it funny as well as dirty - hope the female Bill-fans enjoy it.  
> Variations from Pixley: Rhian Meakin did the makeup for filmed sections on Wacky Wales and no assistants are listed. I just liked the Hel joke and, in my defence, there was a lot of overmanning in the industry at the time (confirmed by the Chaps), so there could have been three makeup girls. Er, women. Er, operatives. What year is it, again? I've been watching the boxed set too long.  
> Irritatingly, although Andrew gives the filming dates (the bulk of the Eisteddfod scenes being apparently all filmed on the one day), he doesn’t give the location of that permanent-looking outdoor stage. Previous filming in the month had been in Swanage (e.g. Goodies arriving in boat) so probably it was in Dorset. Although I was wondering, from the large open space, whether it was also in West London, it seems unlikely logistically.  
> They then did some Ealing TV Studios work and after that the Rugby scenes in Richmond/Twickenham and the whipping was in early May.  
> God, I wish I knew where THAT happened!  
> Also I am not sure whether the wigs would have been Costume or Makeup, and the details about mobile dressing rooms or makeup vans or whether a local building was used instead.  
> The biggest probable rubbish is how official and painstaking the boddie art was. I expect Bill just quickly did it himself or Graeme or Tim or some other guy helped him. The shocking nature of the swastikas and crucifix and the unfinished colouring to the zigzag tend me towards the instinct that it was an unofficial job. But it would have been using makeup from the makeup dept. and to do the eyes surely would have been an expert’s field?  
> But you have to love the fantasy. I hope.


End file.
